Page 109 of Shackled By Shadows

I take a slow breath, forcing myself to piece it together as I speak. “We’ve been assuming that information is being sent: letters, secret notes, maybe even spoken messages passed off to someone outside the stronghold. But what if the king doesn’t need messages?”

Ash raises a brow. “You think he's just guessing our every move?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I think he already has eyes inside.”

Zander’s expression hardens.

“Think about it,” I continue. “We’ve been looking for someone who’s smuggling information out. But what if someone inside the stronghold isn’t just passing messages, they're directly feeding the king information through other means? Magic, maybe. Or meeting with someone on the outside without us noticing.”

Ash runs a hand through his hair, his smirk gone. “That’s a whole different kind of problem.”

“It would explain why we haven’t found anything,” I say. “We’ve been looking in the wrong direction.”

Zander nods, his jaw tight. “If that’s the case, then our best bet is to start tracking movements. Not just who leaves the stronghold, but when and why.”

“Perhaps a craftsman?” I suggest, voice uncertain. “They're in and out all the time, and no one questions them. They're allowed in private chambers, fixing things . . . they would go unnoticed.”

I nod slowly. “We need to pay attention to anyone who disappears for long stretches of time, especially if they start avoiding questions. And . . .” I hesitate, the weight of what I am about to suggest heavy in the air. “We have to consider the possibility that it's someone we trust.”

Ash lets out a slow exhale. “That’s the part I hate.”

“Me too,” I admit. “But if the king really does have someone watching from the inside, we don’t have a choice.”

Zander straightens. “Alright. We start now. We keep track of movement, who’s coming, who’s going, and who’s avoiding questions. If someone’s working against us, we’ll find them.”

Ash gives a small, humorless chuckle. “So, we’re ghost hunting? Sounds fun.”

I glance toward the stronghold, toward the place that has become like a second family to me. A strange unease settles in my gut.

We run into dead end after dead end. I throw myself into the search, needing the distraction as much as I need answers. Anything to keep my mind from wandering back to Oberon’s letter, to the words I have read over and over again until they burn into my memory. If there’s any part of me left, it’s with you.

I can’t afford to dwell on him.

This is bigger than me, bigger than whatever is unraveling between us. We have no way of knowing how much they have already given away, how much danger we are truly in.

Zander has tasked a few trusted scouts with monitoring the gates and the messengers. Ash, in his usual way, tries to play things casually, keeping an ear to the ground, joking with the rebels, prying for anything that feels off.

I work quietly, observing, listening, searching for the smallest inconsistency in anyone’s routine. But nothing stands out. No suspicious movements. No one slipping away in the dead of night. No intercepted letters, no whispered conversations that give anything away. If there is a spy among us, they are careful, too careful.

After our search yields no results, Ash grows frustrated. “This is pointless,” he mutters as we sit in the meeting room late one night, the dim candlelight casting long shadows across the map sprawled across the table. “Either we’re wrong, or they’re a hell of a lot better at covering their tracks than we thought.”

Zander doesn’t look up from where he is meticulously going over a list of names. “Or they know we’re looking for them.”

That thought unsettles me. If they know we were hunting them, they will only be more careful.

“We should set a trap,” I say suddenly, the idea forming as I speak.

Zander and Ash both look up.

Ash raises a brow. “Oh? You planning to make yourself bait?”

I shoot him a look. “Not exactly. But we could plant false information, see if it gets back to the wrong people.”

Zander nods slowly, considering. “It’s risky. But it might be the only way to draw them out.”

A carefully crafted lie, a fabricated supply line, a meeting place in neutral territory. We spend hours honing the details, making sure it is as believable as possible without being too obvious. The location will be an abandoned ruin, one that could easily be overlooked. It is far enough from the stronghold to be a plausible meeting point, but not so far that it would raise questions. We invent a supply route that no one can track, one that moves through non-essential parts of the kingdom, dodging any significant checkpoints.

“We need to make sure the right people hear this,” I say, staring at the map spread out in front of us. “Engineers, blacksmiths, anyone who would be in and out of the stronghold regularly. They’re always moving supplies, fixing equipment, doing work that nobody questions.”